


Can Love be Bought?

by NightwingEarth16



Category: Here and there.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 20:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightwingEarth16/pseuds/NightwingEarth16
Summary: Pets of a dark city are trained and bought by Furniture as pleasure objects.One Pet is bought by a high ranking Furniture.At first it was only the body, but soon, it becomes the heart.





	1. Training

**Author's Note:**

> This is a screwed up story where sex slaves are trained and auctioned   
> One slave, Cerise McKnight, is bought by a high ranking Furniture, Dick Grayson.

First day of training, sort of. 

The soon-to-be-Pets are trained daily, each routine fit to make our bodies long, slender and beautiful. There are no chubby Pets in Ergo. 

For years, each Pet is trained to the max to have strong bodies, to have beautiful legs and smooth skin. 

The Furniture is the only thing that marks the skin of their Pet, claiming it for themselves. 

Yes, it. 

Pets are considered as objects of pleasure only, yet we are properly fed, washed and taken care of. 

Each day, from the moment a Pet turns seven years old, they are taken out of the filthy lower rings of Ergo and placed into the beautiful inner rings instead. 

Our scrappy clothes turn into fine uniforms, made for the training schedules, the bland meals are organic and healthy, no room for sweets, and the rough mattresses that we are used to sleeping on become fine beds with attached bathrooms. 

It's a nightmare. 

Every morning, from exactly six am to six at night, we are training. 

We get fed, we clean up after the training, and we have clothes, but we want freedom. 

Everyday, for eleven years, the seven year old trains until they become a strong eighteen year old. 

That's today. 

My birthday is today. 

I only have a week left of training until the nightmare becomes hell.


	2. Makeup

Here's what happens. Every year, on the first day of each new year, the lower ring is gathered to a Grand Stadium where each seven year old is dragged away from their families. 

From that moment forward, the child is dieted, trained and propperly educated until they are eighteen. 

The years pass, each year pushes the new children into training as the now twelve year olds go into new training, that form more channel gong than the last. 

On their eleventh year, the child now is eighteen and ready to be put into auction. 

After the new recruits come in, there is only one month left for the eighteen year old until they are sent into the Gardens. 

The Gardens are where a team, often two or three people, work on the Pets makeup and costume in time for the Selling. 

The Selling is where the Furniture gather to buy the Pets and use them for pleasure. 

The thought of skin touching my own in such intimate ways makes me nauseous. 

I can handle the training, the runs, the image of my mother's eyes filled to the brim with tears as I'm taken, what I can't handle is the thought of Furniture using my body for pleasure. 

The only spark of hope I have is to not be chosen. 

There are a rare few who are never bought, who have the joy of leaving to return to the diseased world of the lower ring. 

That's my hope. 

It's my only wish, to not be pretty. 

But that is a useless wish. 

Every trainer is ment to work on our physical structure, to make our legs long and strong, to have our ass's tight and our stomach's flat with a firm gut. 

Rarely, do the trainers actually compliment our bodies. 

I was one of the rare few, do my hope dangles on a thread. 

Trainers don't compliment unless they are truely impressed by a Pets physical appearance. 

The words make my skin crawl. 

"You're legs are so long and slender Cerise, you'll have no trouble being sold."

"I've never seen anyone with such a fine stomach, no fat showing here!"

"Such beautiful green eyes, it's almost as if you have emeralds instead of iris's!"

My eyes. 

It's always with my eyes. 

I look outside of the train window and see the tall white buildings of the inner ring. 

My fingers, long and strong from the eleven years, curl around my necklace. 

The only gift my mother gave me before I was taken away. 

On a thin length of brown braided string, there is an oval charm, black glass and the size of my pinkie fingernail. 

The train stops and the eighteen year olds line up and get off the train, the line in perfect uniform. 

Our team's have exactly three days to work with us. 

I've been told by our trainers that each team has a desired post, one for cleaning, one for makeup, and one for costume. 

Well, sort of. There is one person on each team who is in charge of the different stage, while the other two help. Such as, one person will actually be in charge of my makeup patterns and style while the other two members of the team will provide any assistance. 

For three days, the teams will go over patterns, scents, styles, and various techniques that will best bring out our physical beauty. 

On the third day, the Pets will be primped and polished to as much perfection as possible until six pm. 

At six thirty, the auction for the Pets begin.


	3. Transformation

The Pets look around the Gardens as teams begin to fill the grounds as well. 

A lady in white, Furniture, calls out the Pets through a microphone. 

"Samuel Quinn!"

A boy with dark blonde hair stumbles through the crowd of Pets and to his waiting team. 

The Pets thin out and more names are called until, "Cerise McKnight!"

Inhaling, I walk to the the Furniture where my team is. 

Three people, two men and a woman, all in bright, fakeish clothing, pull me over to them. 

One woman with strange eyes, one blue one brown, introduces herself as Piper. Her green hair is in a strange up-do of curls and her clothes remind me of moving water, the fabric flowing and light green.

The man is named Yamin, and his eyes scare me. They look light brown, almost yellow, and his outfit of swampy colors and animal prints don't help. 

The third woman, Katrina, is the nice seat looking. Her eyes are kind brown and her clothes a mixture of red's and orange's. 

They take me to the center where I spend the next two days sampling different colors of makeup, modeling patterns, and being drawn on with paints and false furs and feathers. 

The third day is the worst. 

Piper is in charge of my cleaning. I am forced to take a shower while a robotic arm scrubs away a layer of my skin and lathers thick purple shampoo into my scalp. 

Once out, she covers my body in an oil that burns. 

"Don't worry," she chipers, "This removes all body hair, burning it out of the follicles! You will have satin smooth skin, and it only takes a few seconds to get rid of all of your hair!"

I grit my teeth against the burns, actually feeling each hair burn out at the root. True to her words though, the burning only lasts a few seconds. 

While the oil evaporates from my skin, her long fingers carefully apply a thin layer of the oil to parts of my face. The space in between my eyebrows, my upper lip, and parts around my eyebrows until the only hair on my body is my scalp, eyelashes, and carefully shaped brows. 

Piper smiles at me, "Perfect! Now let's take you to Katrina! We have the perfect costume for you!"

The words make my stomach turn. 

We've seen the costumes on TV back when we were training, and some of the clothes are vile. The outfits have themes to them, some animal, some elemental, some...sexual. 

One year a girl was dressed in nothing but black lengths of cloth, the only parts of her body covered were her breasts and vagina. 

The costume Katrina made for me though doesn't seem to bad. 

It appears to be a simple black bikini and a few black feathers that decorate my ankles and neck. 

My long black hair is pulled into a messy punk style braid and hung over my shoulder. 

Finally, a pair of black feather wings are clipped into my back. 

Yamin paints my lips black, applies huge false lashes to my eyelids, and places a small black feather on my forehead, the soft tip dangling in between my now perfect eyebrows. 

Katrina and Piper roll a large mirror over and I find myself looking at a raven. 

Her eyes are dark green and surrounded by long thick black lashes, lips matte black and skin pale. 

Her white skin and black clothes frighten me.

That's good. 

Maybe I'll be to scary to sell. 

My necklace is tied to my wrist for hope.


	4. Auction

Why are there so many people here? And why does it feel like every eye is on me?

The Pet's are in line, a pair of silver shackles lock wrists together, and a symphony of cheers fills the air. 

Furniture are in the crowd, each with a card and a number, offering to pay for the Pet that is up next for selling. 

The Chairs are sitting together on a balcony above the Furniture. Chairs don't often purchase Pets, but when they do, it's final. No member of Furniture can place another bid. 

My eyes stay zoned on the eager crowd. 

So many eyes stare greedily at the Pets, waiting to screw us. 

Literally. 

Pets are pampered so Furniture can fuck them as much as they want. 

Everything is a blur,

A fox girl with freckles is sold to a balding man. Poor thing. 

A boy decorated in nature foliage is sold to a young woman with thing high eyebrows. 

A deer, a water spirit, a boy in nothing but a loincloth to show his strong muscles...why are they all getting sold? 

My hope is dangling thing now...thumb stroking the smooth glass. 

I'm jerked foreword. 

"Our next Pet is a woman, from the Western side. She has shown remarkable athletic abilities and is gifted in gymnastics."

The Chairs whisper enthusiastically. 

"Her skin is pale and strong, built for harsh treatment of needed," (a few chuckles) ,"And her will is strong to. She's a tough one to pin but worth the effort."

The auctioneer, a woman with oversized pink lips and tall hair, smiles to the crowd. 

"Can I hear the bid for fifty-thousand dollars?"

"Fifty-five thousand!"

"Eighty!"

The numbers go higher the the voices become louder. 

My heart is beating faster than a train and my legs feel as though they have been turned to jelly. 

"One million dollars!"

There is a groan and a hush.

"I hear one million," the lady calls out, "One million going once...."

Nothing.

"One million going twice."

I can hear the tension building, a man with a large stomach and green hair rubbed his hands eagerly.

He is going to be my-

"One million and two hundred thousand dollars."

The lady looks...up. 

My eyes follow hers, and there is a Chair standing.

The bell rings. 

I'm sold...to a Chair.

My hope dies.


	5. New Pet

There is nothing for me to see, to hear, to feel.   
The chair that bought me looks down at me, literally. 

The only thing I can do is shiver. 

My chain is jerked toward the stage exit, each step making it harder to breathe. 

I can’t be sold...not to a Chair. 

Chair’s run every inch of the city, of our lives. To have one as my Master...my stomach folds in on itself. 

I’m taken to the foot of the stairs and watch as my new Master descends. 

He is young, maybe a year or two older than me, and I hate to even think it but, he’s handsome. His hair is as black as mine, his skin is a healthy peachy color and unscarred, and his eyes...dark blue, the sparkle putting sapphires to shame. 

He takes my chain.

I’m his new Pet.


End file.
